


Until We Speak Again

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Capture, Elves, Fights, Gen, Orcs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gollum has escaped the Greenwood elves and Legolas is sent to advise Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own anything. It all belongs to JRR Tolkien and this is non profit fanfiction.
> 
> (With thanks to Lindahoyland for the beta.)

They had been two weeks upon the road and Legolas was growing weary of waybread and scavenged food. Had Thranduil his way Legolas would be travelling with a large retinue, including a cook to attend his every culinary whim and for just a few moments, upon rousing from dreams, the Prince of Mirkwood was beginning to see his father’s point of view. 

Had Legolas his way he would have been travelling alone but he had done so before only to be attacked by orcs upon the very borders of Imladris. Thranduil had never forgotten, so Legolas now travelled with a personal guard, when he did not care to give them the slip. Today he travelled in the simple garb of an archer in an attempt to hide his lineage. Orcs would attack any elf but they would take perverse delight in taunting Thranduil of Mirkwood if they managed to capture or kill his son. 

“The sun is setting,” Haradrenor noted as he poured water upon the embers of their breakfast cooking fire.

“As it does most days,” Pethon replied with an ironic twist of his lips. He stuffed drawing materials into his pack.

Legolas smiled as he fastened the last buckle on his quiver harness. The two could be relied upon to jibe each other at every opportunity but it was always good natured. They had been Legolas’ personal guard for some time and despite the difference in their decent, Legolas being of the Sindar and his guards of the Silvan; the three got on well from the moment they were thrown together by their ruler.

“We should reach the fords of the Anduin before moonrise if we walk swiftly and do not tarry overmuch to admire the scenery,” Legolas observed.

Pethon scowled. “I limited my drawing and writing to our midnight break yester eve. We lost no time and will lose no more tonight.”

“Well, be sure that is so. You are supposed to be my guards and this feels more like a hobbit walking party.” Legolas picked up his bow and followed Haradrenor.

“What is a hobbit? And whatever is a walking party?” the one time Lorien elf asked over his shoulder.

Legolas grinned. “That’s right. You did not join our people until after the Battle of Erebor. You may know them as Perrian or Halflings. They live west of the Misty Mountains and have a love of field and pasture. They also like to walk for pleasure, or so I am given to understand; although not beyond the borders of their own lands.” He added pointedly, “Where they have no need to watch for orc, goblin or other dangerous folk.”

“Sounds like a good place to go for a holiday. Not being chased by spiders, orcs or trolls sounds appealing,” Pethon suggested as he scanned behind them.

“Well, talking of not being chased . . . we can return meat to our menu once we have forded the river. The Beornings are not interested in protecting the animals outside their lands. At least that is one danger we avoided without a fight.” Legolas pointed to a rocky outcrop on the horizon where what appeared to be a huge bear was silhouetted against the fading pale grey glow of the sunset.

“I did not know there were any Beornings left to avoid until a few days ago,” observed Pethon.

“Hush!” Haradrenor hissed as he fitted an arrow to his bow.

As one they moved to form a triangle, weapons drawn and eyes looking outward.

“What do you hear?” whispered Legolas.

“Breathing,” Haradrenor replied.

“It is all around us,” added Pethon, his voice hardly louder than a breath in itself.

“And we have been all around since you arose.” The owner of the voice came out from behind a thicket of gorse, along with several others. They were elves, but clad in the grey of Lorien. “What brings Mirkwood elves so far west?”

Legolas lowered his bow and his guard followed suit, although Pethon kept his arrow nocked. “We have no need to answer your questions. What brings the guards of Lorien so far north?”

One of the grey company stepped forward. “I am called Orophin. We had word of a large party of orcs moving down the western shores of Anduin and came to investigate. We were returning when we heard your voices on the wind. Now that you have my name and our business will you give me yours?”

“I am called Legolas and we are on our way to Imladris to deliver a message to Lord Elrond from King Thranduil.” Such was the introversion of Thranduil’s kingdom that Legolas’ felt safe in the knowledge that his position would not be known by name alone, outside the borders of Mirkwood.

Orophin pressed. “Does this message contain anything of import for Lorien?”

Legolas shook his head. “It is a personal matter and presages no threat to your land.” Indeed, he could imagine no serious threat to any realm ruled by Galadriel and Celeborn, least of all from a creature as weak as Gollum. “Did you find your orcs?”

“We followed their tracks as far as the entrance to a tunnel west and a little north of the fords and decided it would be safer not to enter. We are only a scouting party and who knows how many more lurk within those caves. It may be that Lord Celeborn will instruct us to return with a larger force.”

“We will keep our eyes open for the orcs.”

“And your ears I hope.” Orophin waved his troop on before surprising Legolas by bowing low to the three. “We will leave you to your errand and wish you safe travel, Prince of the Woodland Realm.” With a knowing smile he turned and followed his warriors into the night, their clothing soon rendering them invisible even to elven eyes.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at Haradrenor whose own widened. “Do not look at me. I told them nothing. Orophin always knows more than he says. He and his brothers are high in Celeborn’s esteem for good reason.”

Pethon dropped his arrow back into his quiver. “Perhaps we should dispense with conversation for a while. We need to pay closer attention to our surroundings.”

“Especially if there is a possibility of encountering orcs once we cross the river,” added Haradrenor with a grimace.

 

Haradrenor – southern male   
Pethon – word male


	2. Chapter 2

Now the trio moved silently across the moon-washed landscape. Even the nocturnal animals took no note of their passage and their light tread was barely to be heard above the sound of the river where it rushed over the pebbles of the shallow fords. Only Legolas travelled this route with any degree of knowledge about the terrain so it was he who was leading when they ran into the orcs.

The traveller’s first awareness of them was a poorly fletched black arrow that whistled a scant inch past Legolas’ left cheek. Between one heartbeat and the next the elves had drawn sword and bows and at the next beat they were assailed by a howling hoard of orcs who had been hidden behind several rocky outcrops scattered only yards from the shore.

Haradrenor leapt onto a boulder as tall as he in order to make best use of his bow. Once atop it he dropped to one knee to make a smaller target for any return fire and began to systematically down their enemy.

Whilst at Legolas’ back Pethon set about proving that sometimes the sword was mightier than the pen. Legolas also made use of his bow and for some minutes the orcs were held at bay thus. But the three were greatly outnumbered and once all their arrows were spent there was no time, in the throes of a fight, to collect more. Soon Legolas had to drop his bow to draw knives and Haradrenor jumped down to add his sword arm to the fray.

And still they held their own, forming an outward facing triangle of whirling, flashing steel. But their foes were recklessly unheeding of injury or death and it is difficult to hold off an enemy that does not always bother to dodge oncoming blows. Although the orcs soon had to stamp upon the bodies of their fallen comrades to reach the smaller Mirkwood party, their numbers never seemed to diminish. The trio found themselves being forced into a tighter and tighter formation where as much effort was spent in avoiding each other’s steel as in killing the orcs.

As Pethon leaned back to allow Haradrenor a decapitating swing at one orc another darted in to deeply score Pethon’s arm from wrist to elbow. Were it a sharp elven blade Pethon would have felt little pain and fought on until he bled out or the contest ended. But this was an orc blade, notched and rusty, that tore at the flesh instead of cutting cleanly. With a cry of alarmed pain Pethon dropped his sword and that was all the advantage the orcs needed. They pressed forward with a roar of triumph and within moments all the elves were disarmed and face down among the stinking corpses of their enemy.

-O-

Legolas’ first awareness was that he had been unaware for some unspecified length of time. His second awareness was that he was in considerable discomfort. Suspecting that he may not be alone he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as he tried to isolate the various pains that were vying for his attention.

His head was the most insistent and he concentrated upon pushing the general pounding back until it centred upon an area around the base of his skull. From the seconds before his missing time he managed to dredge up the fleeting image of a clawed hand wielding some sort of studded club. Having solved that mystery he brought his attention to the various other aches and, with some miniscule movements, determined that he lay upon his side with his hands and feet tied together behind him.

Suddenly, Haradrenor’s voice spoke nearby. “Legolas, are you awake?” 

That his companion did not consider it necessary to whisper let him know it was safe to acknowledge him and Legolas blinked open his eyes. “Yes.” The deeper breath required to speak made him instantly aware that orcs were not far away and he grimaced. “Pethon?”

“He is still unconscious but they have bandaged his arm at least. Why I do not know. We should all be dead.”

They were all lying on the damp earthen floor of some sort of cave. A faint glow, probably from a torch, shone beyond the one opening into what appeared to be either another cave or a tunnel. It was the only illumination and it showed Legolas that the other two were restrained as he was. He tried to shuffle a little closer to the silent Pethon. “Have you any idea how long I was unconscious?”

“I was knocked out too. I’m afraid I have no idea and Pethon has not awoken yet so I suspect he will be no wiser than we.”

Legolas managed to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could see Pethon’s face more clearly and thus it was he that first noticed the flicker of returning awareness. “What worries me is that we are awake at all. You are right. We should be dead.”

Pethon’s voice was slurred. “Please tell me this is not Mandos. I am sure I could not have lived so bad a life as to deserve this.” He opened slightly unfocussed silver-grey eyes.

Despite their situation Legolas gave in to the urge to smile. “It is not; although it should be.”

Their voices were pitched low but there must have been a guard posted outside the entrance for at that moment half a dozen vile creatures waddled, limped or scrabbled into the chamber. All three elves wrinkled their noses as the sour smell of unwashed bodies and badly tanned leather clothing accompanied their captors. They stood at the other end of the chamber for some moments, some drooling, and Legolas began to feel like a prize cow being inspected for market.

Finally, a much taller figure pushed through the ranks. Although this creature was as ugly as the orcs it appeared more manlike and Legolas detected a degree of intelligence behind the grey eyes. It was not a combination he found reassuring. It came closer and all three elves tried not to inhale. “Which of you is the Elven King’s brat?”

When none of the captives replied it shuffled even closer, the reek making Legolas want to gag. “My scout saw the grey cloak call one of you ‘prince’. Which of you is it?” The scarred and scaly visage broke into an evil parody of a smile. “If you don’t answer I’ve got lots of ways to make you squeal.”

Legolas glanced aside to where he could see that Pethon was struggling to stay conscious. He had no doubt the orc would make good on its promise. Just as he opened his mouth to declare himself Pethon spoke. “I am he.”

Haradrenor’s voice echoed his companion. “No, I am he.”

“It is I,” Legolas declared. “The other two idiots are supposed to be my guards.”

“I am no idiot!” Haradrenor announced a little peevishly.

“Well you do not make much of a guard either,” Pethon replied.

“Enough!” the leader yelled, kicking Pethon in the stomach for good measure. “It’s a good job I’m under orders to wait for word from Sharkey or you’d be jointed and hanging over a fire by now.” It leered again. “That could still happen.” With those words it left, its entourage turning to scuttle, waddle or limp behind.

Once they were out of sight Haradrenor and Legolas shuffled closer to their companion. Legolas tried to examine the bandaged arm. “How are you doing, Pethon? Did that creature cause you any new injury?”

Pethon grimaced. “Damned orcs. No sense of humour.”

“I was right on one thing. You are an idiot,” Legolas replied. Before Pethon could retaliate he turned to his other guard. “Haradrenor, do you think you could undo or tear my knots with your teeth?”

He waited while his friend manoeuvred at his back. “Maybe. Although I did not have time to clean my teeth today.”

Legolas snorted. “I will take the risk.” Within moments he could feel Haradrenor gnawing at the rawhide and willed himself to be patient.

“Yuck!”

“What is it?” Legolas tried to look over his shoulder to where Haradrenor was spluttering.

“These leather thongs have barely been tanned at all. They taste foul.”

“You can always clean your teeth afterwards,” Legolas replied. “Now chew.”

“Remind me again why your father saw fit to send his only son just to deliver a message?” Pethon hissed.

“I believe he thought to teach me a lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That we must take responsibility for our own mistakes,” Legolas replied as he tugged experimentally at his bonds then subsided to let Haradrenor continue chewing.

“Well, if you die as a result of his action I hope he’s willing to take responsibility for that.”

Legolas said nothing. If Pethon returned without him it was likely that he would be learning a lesson too; that he should not allow the King’s son to die unless he died first. In his rage Thranduil would probably ensure Pethon never made another mistake this side of Mandos’ halls.


	3. Chapter 3

“Try them now,” Haradrenor murmured as he spat the foul taste from his mouth again.

Legolas tried to tug his wrists apart and gave a silent cheer when he felt the leather thong give a little. One more tug and he felt it part. He sat up at once, sparing a scant moment to massage his red ringed wrists before unfastening the ties around his ankles. By the time he turned to Haradrenor the guard had rolled onto his side, giving Legolas easy access to his restraints. Shortly all three were free and Haradrenor crept silently to the exit.

With infinite care he tucked himself close in to the rock wall and leaned out a little to look either way down what he now saw was a tunnel. When he turned to beckon the others forward he was smiling. “The idiots have posted no guards and our weapons and gear are piled up in an alcove to the left.”

When Legolas would have stepped into the tunnel to collect the weapons Pethon held him back, earning a glare from the prince. “Let one of the idiots collect them from the idiots.”

It was Haradrenor who slipped out, returning with all their weapons only moments later. Rather than argue the issue Legolas settled for arming himself. He turned in time to see Haradrenor rinsing his mouth with water several times.

“I can still taste it,” he complained. 

Legolas reached into his belt pouch and produced a small wad of leaves. “Chew these and stop complaining,” he instructed with a grin. Then he turned to Pethon and began to unwrap his forearm. He grimaced when he saw the damage done and began to smear the wound with ointment before tearing a strip from the hem of his shirt to bind it up again. “It needs cleansing properly and stitching but I am afraid we have not the time.”

Pethon only smiled. “I knew there was a reason we brought you along with us on this walking party. I do not suppose you have a map to these tunnels in that pouch?”

“Sorry. I forgot to pack it,” Legolas replied ironically as he leaned out to look up and down the tunnel once more. “We had better move. I don’t know who this Sharkey is but I suspect it will not be long before he issues his instructions.”

“I cannot argue with that. But which way do we go? We have no idea which is the way out or how deep we are,” Pethon noted as he flexed the fingers of his injured arm.

“We will just have to follow our noses,” Legolas noted. “Go whichever way smells cleanest.” He nodded to Haradrenor and Pethon in turn. “Your nose is filled with the smell of mint at the moment and your sword arm is weak so it seems I am in the lead.”

Not waiting for any arguments he stepped into the tunnel and inhaled deeply. “Phew! That is not going to be as easy as I thought.” He turned left and his guards followed a little uneasily. Their weakest member, Pethon, was placed in the middle and Haradrenor drew his sword and brought up the rear.

They had been travelling for several minutes and Legolas was beginning to think that the air really was growing less odorous when their luck ran out. As they crept down yet another tunnel a group of orcs appeared from a side entrance just in front of them. For what seemed like an eternity but was probably only moments both groups simply stared at each other. The orcs recovered first, turning to rush the smaller elven party.

The narrow confines of the tunnel presented both advantages and disadvantage. There was no room for elf or orc to stand side by side, which meant that the orcs could only attack one at a time. Unfortunately, as Legolas was the one in front, his two guards were helpless to protect him, other than to ensure that no enemies came up behind them. Bereft of arrows the prince drew his knives and set up a whirring shield of lethal steel. Pethon joined in when he could, crouching low to apply his sword, spear-like between Legolas’ scything ballet. 

Orc bodies and orc body parts began to pile up in front of Legolas. Rather than having to reach over their fallen comrades the orcs simply used the heap as a springboard and the three elves found themselves retreating down the tunnel. It would only be a matter of time before the noise of their fight would draw more orcs and they would be overwhelmed once more. This time they may not be fortunate enough to be captured, rather than killed. Sharkey may issue his instructions but orcs heeded little else when fighting; particularly when fighting elves. The creatures were bred to kill.

So focussed was he upon the task before him that when a strong hand grabbed Legolas’ tunic and hauled him into an open space he spun about at once to apply his knives to the new threat. It was only Orophin’s quick sideways sweep of his sword that prevented him being sliced and diced by the Mirkwood prince. When Legolas paused in shock for an instant the captain of Lorien threw him to one side to join Haradrenor and Pethon. 

All three Mirkwood elves lay to one side for several stunned moments, only watching as the larger Lorien party began to decimate the orcs. Then they gathered their wits and rejoined the fray. They soon recognised that the Lorien warriors were slowly moving back, through an exit in the far wall and guessed that this was the way out of the noisome lair. They took no persuading to fall in with this unspoken plan and then all were running swiftly down another tunnel, this one also showing signs of recent battle. Legolas, Pethon and Haradrenor concentrated so intently on keeping their feet among the detritus of orc body parts, that when they suddenly burst out into brilliant sunshine they stumbled on blindly until they came up short within a stand of trees.

Haradrenor threw his princely charge to the ground as a final volley of unexpectedly well aimed black arrows pierced the air where Legolas had stood a scant moment before. The larger orc creature had followed them and was actually standing outside in the sunlight. Legolas had only a moment to register his surprise before a return volley from Orophin’s troop forced its retreat. For several moments it could be heard screaming in pain and then all fell silent.

The tentative warbling song of a lone blackbird heralded the return of sound to the stunned world and the disciplined elven warriors began to mould order from the chaos. 

“What was that creature?” murmured Haradrenor.

“I do not think I want to know,” Legolas replied with a grimace before rising to join Orophin’s troop and allowing his mind to take refuge in the mundane. 

Some of the Lorien warriors cleaned weapons while others moved among the wounded, offering what aid they could in the field. Considering the heat of the battle Legolas was surprised that there were no serious injuries but he moved to help where he could. It was as he was slipping a makeshift sling over the arm of a Lorien archer that Orophin approached him. “Is it serious?” he asked, nodding at his compatriot.

“No. The shoulder was out of joint but I have put it back. He only needs rest but you should check regularly to ensure that the blood supply to the arm has not been compromised.” 

Orophin drew Legolas to one side when he stood. “Do you require an escort as far as Imladris? We have plenty of uninjured who could accompany you if you wish.”

Legolas shook his head. “Despite what just happened I think our safest path is in stealth. I thank you for your aid. How did you know we were in there?”

Orophin had the grace to look sheepish. “I sent one of my troop to shadow you.” When Legolas would have protested this indignity Orophin added quickly, “I knew the orcs had gone to ground close to the fords and that if they did attack you would be greatly outnumbered. If you had managed to slip by them you would have been none the wiser of my little subterfuge. But if they did attack my people were close enough to help and, under those circumstances, I did not think you would object too strongly.” He met Legolas’ eyes squarely. “Do you?”

Legolas could not help the smile that sparkled in his eyes. “I do not. Thank you, Orophin. It is good to know that the peoples of the Golden Wood and the Greenwood can still fight together at need.”

Orophin grinned as he clasped his shoulder. “Are you certain I cannot provide you with further escort? The Lord Celeborn has given his permission.”

Legolas did not question how that had been achieved more than a day’s ride from Caras Galadhon. The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood had garnered more skills than he, in lives many times the length of his own. But the prince of Mirkwood touched hand to heart and bowed formally to their representative. “My thanks to the rulers of the Golden Wood. But I and my companions were appointed by King Thranduil to perform a task. We should now resume our journey, as he instructed.”

He blinked as, within the privacy of his mind, he heard a lady’s rich laughter. “I believe the decision to travel with such a small escort was yours. But I will let that pass. Youth is the time to make mistakes. Farewell, young prince - until we speak again.”

Legolas glanced around at Orophin, Pethon and Haradrenor but none of them showed any indication of having heard the voice. Orophin only gave a lopsided smile. “Very well. I bid you a safe journey.” He turned away to supervise the disposition of his warriors for the return journey to Lorien. 

Pethon drew the ruin of his sleeve over a clean bandage and Haradrenor slipped fresh arrows, gleaned from the Lorien archers, into Legolas’ quiver. Legolas tugged his tunic into place, nodding to his guard as they turned for the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The remainder of their journey was uneventful, which gave Legolas plenty of opportunity to consider the Lady’s final words to him. 

“Until we speak again.”

END


End file.
